Nineteenhundredandyesterday
by J. Peterson
Summary: "Forgive me," she requested silently, and brought her hands together in front of her chest. "Grant me the strength I need, and her the happiness she deserves."


**Disclaimer:  
**Mai HiME, all characters and other related indica belong to Sunrise. No profit made, no infringement intended.

**Warnings:  
**No yays or d'awws.

**Author's ramble:  
**I am _not_ good with the angstmonster; I write with my emotions more often than not, and I prefer my default setting of 'bouncy (odd)ball'. I am, however, only gonna get better by venturing outside that zone, and this time my personal goal was to avoid fluff, which I'm really not good at.

So why write it? Aside from the challenge involved, a TV ad re-introduced me to a band I grew up loving, and a YouTube-binge of their music was brought to a screeching halt when I rediscovered the song this fic is named for. The little slideshow I got when listening proved my imagination to be painfully vivid, and when I supplemented that song with a few others (Dizzy Mizz Lizzy's _Glory _being the one briefly quoted)_,_ the idea adjusted slightly and then got stuck. My full playlist for this fic can be found at my LJ; posted 200214.

All the songs are highly recommended, by the way – both on their own and in relation to this – and I promise they're not as depressing as the story might make them out to be.

Thanks for reading.

**Nineteenhundredandyesterday**

* * *

_Something's wrong inside my heart, in the name of glory  
__She don't care too much for moonlight sun_

xXxXx

Mornings were always the easiest. They came much earlier and often far more abruptly than she preferred, but something about the daze of sleep – the lingering fog of limbo clouding her thoughts – still allowed that time of day to be almost pleasant.

She didn't bother opening her eyes. The only light she could pick up was that of the odd, distorted flickering coming from the television, and she firmly focused her attention on the sounds from the anime episodes that – as she well knew – were on the air when it was far too early in the day for any sane person to be awake. A few seconds of prodding had her exhausted mind reluctantly rousing enough to match the voices to a show, and she groaned softly when long experience told her that the show in question usually aired between 3 and 4 in the morning.

Anywhere from one to two hours of sleep, she surmised with a sigh. Less than she'd hoped for when she'd finally managed to stop thinking and drift off, but at least what rest she _had_ gotten had been free of any dreams. More often than not, that certainly wasn't case; many nights, she woke in a cold sweat when cruel memories surfaced during her slumber, others found her rising in quiet misery when wistfulness painted images in her mind's eye that would never come to pass, and others again had her jolting awake with a choked cry when her nightmares had her watching herself succumb to her own desires, push Natsuki down and-

_No_. In the semi-darkness, bloodshot, crimson eyes snapped open. _Not that._

With what felt like a monumental effort, she forced those thoughts from her mind and pushed herself into a crooked seat; leaning on one trembling arm as she wiped at her eyes. The bright light blaring from the television made her squint painfully when she did manage to work them open, and she spent several, weary seconds getting her legs over the side of the couch and her bare feet settled against the cool, wooden floor while her vision grouchily adjusted.

Her head, she recognized fuzzily as she got to her feet, was aching, but that was no different from any other morning. In fact, it was almost welcomed, because irritating as it was, it was something that she could focus on; something that wasn't the emptiness of a lavish apartment, the shifting shadows that were disbanded by her flicking on lights as she walked, or the gnawing in her guts that had been a constant companion for only the gods knew how long. It had taken her ages to find a way of getting any sleep at all, and the only remedy she'd discovered that didn't involve some sort of medication was abandoning her bed for the couch, where the sound of the TV managed to distract her long enough for her to get at least a little rest.

The steady stream of water pounding against the steel sink in the kitchen made her ears ring, but she set her mouth in a firm line and filled a large glass before she washed down a small collection of painkillers, then filled the glass again and forced herself to drink down the contents; not stopping until the liquid was gone and she was gasping for air. Water was, after all, the true blood of life, and while she was at least _trying_ to take care of herself, the days and hours often melded into one continuous blur and sometimes she just forgot. So every morning, she had four glasses of water – two upon waking and two before leaving for classes – followed by two more after coming home, and two before going to bed. Rituals, more than anything; matched against specific, regular occurrences in her everyday life so that she wouldn't overlook them.

She wondered, as she set the glass down again and ran a damp hand through her disorderly hair, if she had classes later. She barely remembered anything after her schooling had ended the previous day, and at this hour, it wasn't as though she could use the activity level on the street below as any sort of indicator. Still, logic ruled in the favor of her having _something_ on her schedule, and she abandoned the kitchen in favor of the bathroom; shedding yesterdays crumpled clothes as she went.

The lights in the bathroom were far harsher, and she shielded her eyes with a wince as they flickered to life, then divested herself of the remainder of her clothing and set the shower to running all with her eyes shut; a simple enough task since she certainly knew where everything was by now. She'd moved here within a week of arriving in Kyoto months back; her family owned the building, and her father had done everything in his power – which was quite a bit – to make his only daughter as comfortable as he could, considering that she'd kindly but firmly refused moving back into her childhood home.

"_I'm fine, Papa," she'd assured him, seconds after she saw the question start to form on his lips once the driver shut the door behind them._

"_Hm." Another set of unusually-colored eyes had watched her carefully, and a corner of his mouth had curled upwards in a very familiar, half-smile. "I'd believe you, 'cept if it was me saying those words and looking like that, I'd be lying a blue streak."_

_Shizuru had carefully swallowed a sigh, because what could she tell him? That she'd fought and killed? Died herself, in fact, in the arms of the woman who had become her entire world? That she'd committed acts that were beyond atrocious – acts she'd never in her deepest nightmares envisioned herself to be capable of – and been summarily forgiven without the slightest recompense, even by the one person that she'd hurt the most?_

"_I'm fine," she'd insisted again, because honestly, that was just so much simpler, even if it wasn't entirely true._

"_Alright." A strong arm had settled around her shoulders as the car began to move through the city, and she'd known a brief moment of comfort in her father's arms that had almost – almost – been enough to unravel her. "I know better than to push you, Shizuru." The kiss he'd set on the top of her head had been light. "Let's go home. Your mother's waiting to see you."_

_And that had been her main reason to refuse to move all the way home, much as her family had attempted to convince her otherwise later that same evening; the fact that they, unlike the casual observer, wouldn't be fooled. That they knew her well enough to see through her act; that they had the right to push her when they sensed that she was upset._

_Much as Natsuki was learning to._

Shizuru braced her hands against the wall, stuck her head under the intentionally icy spray of water, and willed herself to think about her duties for the upcoming day.

xXxXx

As it turned out, it was Sunday, which to Shizuru's mind was both good and bad all at the same time. Good because it meant that she wasn't required to expend any of her limited energy by keeping a friendly smile on her face for 8-10 hours, and on the flip side of the coin also bad, because a day off meant that there was nothing to keep her entirely too active thoughts otherwise occupied. Especially since she had no assignments to work on, and her idle hours up until now had mostly been spent on reading ahead and taking notes.

And given that she'd now taken as much time as she could with showering and getting dressed, she really didn't know what to do with herself for the rest of the day. Her parents, her calendar had told her, were out of the country at the moment, and even if they had been home, it would have been a hard choice between accepting the diversion of spending time with them, and risking the questions that she knew she was only barely keeping at bay.

Cleaning wasn't an option; not that she minded it, but more because it wasn't necessary, since a housekeeping service visited three times a week while she was at school. Training, perhaps? Her gaze flicked from the admittedly beautiful view of the gray world beyond the windows to the door that led to the large room she'd set aside for that purpose. Clearly she wasn't as disciplined as she had been before leaving for Fuuka; that much was painfully obvious from how easily the entire situation was getting to her, so surely spending some time on her katas could only help.

Or at least, she figured that it couldn't _hurt_. The discipline was certainly sorely needed, she decided brief moments later, since her exhaustion had made her forego the process of changing into the garments she usually wore during her training, and instead opening the door to the dojo dressed rather disrespectfully in jeans and a tank top; eager to hopefully lose herself in the familiar motions. She did remember to bow before entering, at least.

The room had been set up slowly over the time she'd lived there; transforming from what the previous residents had apparently used as an entertainment room into a wide open space designed chiefly for the purpose of martial arts. Tatami mats covered the center of the gleaming floors, and the walls on either side of her were lined with mirrors, while the one directly across from the door consisted entirely of full-length windows. A few, select pieces of more modern equipment waited patiently to her left, while the side to her right contained more traditional supplies; wooden staffs made for practice, a few sets of padded armor for any sparring that might occur, and of course the wall-mounted, actual naginata that her parents had gifted her once she'd mastered the weapon shortly before graduating middle school.

It was, she reflected, truly a shame that she'd yet to make any real use of it.

Shizuru squared her shoulders and entered the room; consciously keeping her gaze away from the many mirrors as she crossed over to the small _kami-dana_ set into the wall next to her naginata. It was a simple thing with merely four shelves mounted on the wall at eye-level; one above, one below and one on either side of a smaller, round mirror, with various amulets littering the available surface area. The centerpiece – aside from the mirror – was a presumably colorful, miniature replica of the gates at the entrance to the Kamigamo Shrine that was located only a short train-ride away; an ancient place of worship, and one of the oldest, recognized shrines of _Kamo Wake-ikazuchi_, the god of thunder, and her family's ancestral deity.

She really had been ignoring her faith for entirely too long, she mused as she carefully lit a stick of incense and eyed the empty space that would usually hold offerings in favor of the mirror directly in front of her face. In Fuuka it had been one thing – the school was Catholic, after all – but in Kyoto; in one of the main, national homes of Shinto shrines? Hardly any excuses here – at least not ones she was personally willing to accept.

With the incense lit, she took a respectful step back from the _kami-dana_ and bowed twice as she cleared her mind and closed her eyes. _Forgive me_, she requested silently, and brought her hands together in front of her chest. _Grant me the strength I need, and her the happiness she deserves._ Slowly, she clapped twice, and then bowed once more at the waist before exhaling quietly and turning her gaze to the wooden staffs that waited patiently in their holders.

After months without any practice, Shizuru was well aware that closing her hands around the real naginata was a foolish idea at best, and a potentially harmful one at worst. It was, after all, a weapon in every sense of the word, with a razor-sharp blade that could easily separate limb from owner, and definitely not something to be toyed with. So instead, she aimed her grasp for a staff; a practice implement that had been meticulously weighted to simulate the balance of the naginata itself, but one that was unlikely to leave her with anything worse than a rather impressive bruise if she were to perform below her usual standards.

Which she probably was, she admitted quietly as she hefted its weight and felt her shoulders balk at a strain they just weren't accustomed to any more. Still, all she could do was try.

The start was calm and measured – more of a warm-up, really – and she carefully guided the staff through a series of slow movements in order to wake up muscles that hadn't been used that way in a long time. Easy as it was meant to be, she still found it to be much more difficult than she remembered, and her brow furrowed in a frown when the motions proved to be awkward and she actually managed to smack herself in both the thigh and the shoulder before even completing one round.

Again, and this time she almost beaned herself square in the head, which angered her enough that she had to take a few seconds to just breathe and get her annoyance with her traitorous body back under control. Then again, and now she forced herself to slow to a snail's pace, which actually worked well enough to let her perform the simple kata without any errors.

Determinedly, she kept at it; steadily increasing the pace and complexity of her movements while night gave way to day and the sun rose in the sky outside her windows. To an outside observer, the speed with which she reclaimed her proficiency would have been staggering, but to Shizuru, the progress she made was infuriatingly slow and only served to fuel her dissatisfaction with herself.

She'd failed to do a lot of things, her mind taunted her as her lips curled into a sneer and the wooden staff swirled around her panting form in a blur of motion. She'd failed to keep control of herself in the face of adversity. She'd failed to protect Natsuki. She'd failed to be the friend the younger woman had needed; the daughter her parents deserved.

And she had definitely failed to be someone worthy of Natsuki's affections, even if that _had_ been in her cards. With that thought, she overextended herself dangerously, and only her firm grip on the weapon in her hands kept it from flying across the room, at the price of her balance being summarily destroyed and her dropping onto her hands and knees on the floor with an undignified grunt.

She looked tired, she decided as she finally faced and glared at her sweat-soaked, gasping reflection; at her too-lean waist, noticeably thinner limbs and the dark circles under her eyes. She looked _weak_.

That was not acceptable. Shizuru rose to a stand and rolled her head from side to side as she exhaled slowly. There was a stiffness to her movements that she innately detested; a lack of strength in her arms and legs that she couldn't ignore, but was determined to gain back all the same, no matter what it took.

_Discipline._

Again. She took a breath and lifted the weighted staff into the ready position, then set herself and closed her eyes.

_Control_.

xXxXx

The sun was close to setting when she found herself in the kitchen; freshly showered for the second time that day and ingesting five glasses of water this time, if at a more moderate rate than she had in the morning. Much to her annoyance, every move she made was shaky. Before, she had been more mentally exhausted due to the thoughts running through her head and a simple lack of sleep, but she was now also thoroughly, physically drained after spending the entire day putting her already weakened body through its paces.

Part of the reason that the exertion had been so hard on her was, of course, the fact that it was the first time that she'd actually touched on any kind of martial art since arriving in Kyoto; not to mention one of very few times since the Carnival itself. Her father had attempted to coax her into a sparring match on several occasions, but she'd politely refused him, citing exhaustion. That _had_ been part of the reason, but admittedly, the chief cause of her reluctance was the dark memories she now associated with the weapon, which she had only been able to push aside today because it had been a matter of her either facing those, or spending hours having nothing to do but think.

At least it was a step out of the darkness. A small one, but a step nonetheless.

She wasn't foolish enough to believe that she could put her past behind her by simply refusing to acknowledge that it had even happened, she considered as she forced down another bite of fruit that didn't taste of anything. Or at least, she wasn't that foolish _anymore_, because she certainly had tried to do that initially; staying in Fuuka for over a year of university before finally deciding to transfer to Kyodai – with the aid and clout of her family – one semester into her second year.

Neither of those choices was one that she had the heart to regret. The time she'd spent in Fuuka had let her slowly repair her friendship with Natsuki; reparations that were sorely needed, because even though she believed that the younger woman had truly forgiven her for everything, her actions had still served to shatter the trust between them. It had been time well spent to rebuild that trust, but once things had started to return to normal between them and she'd lost that goal as her main focus, the lack of such a major distraction had let the memories of the Carnival start to bubble back up to the surface.

True, all of her actions had been undone when the Obsidian Prince had been defeated. That, however, didn't remove the horror of her being able to so negligently commit the atrocities that she had.

She was better than that. She had to be. She _would_ be.

Shizuru emptied her glass in a final, large gulp; then filled it again and leaned back against the counter with a slow exhale. She was trying her best, and admittedly, in some areas she was excelling. Her grades, for instance, certainly hadn't suffered in spite of being dropped into a new school well into the year, and she was a frequent source of information and aid both when it came to her professors, and to the few of the other students that she actually spent some small amount of time with outside the campus grounds.

In other areas, she was candid enough to admit to herself that she was failing; at least partially. She wasn't spending as much time with her parents as she should, due to the fact that her uncharacteristic reticence and increasingly thin appearance worried them. Stress and a guilty conscience, meanwhile, had kept her from practicing both her faith and her naginatajutsu until today, and it was also what made her responses to Natsuki's attempts at reaching her hard to write and slow to complete.

The younger woman was concerned about her, and she realized that much; partially because Natsuki certainly never bothered to hide it. The worry she was causing her had been one of the reasons behind her leaving Fuuka, along with the fact that she hoped the distance would make it easier to move past her own, impractical affections. She had taken no pains to conceal her causes for leaving – though she had downplayed one reason in favor of another, less important one like Kyodai's status – and while her friend hadn't been anywhere close to happy about her decision, she had respected it.

And decreed, of course, that Shizuru had better keep in touch, because if she didn't, Natsuki was going to make her pay for it.

A tug at the corner of her mouth pulled her lips into a faint, wry smile. It was cruel of her to make her promise such a thing, but it was a sweet sort of cruelty, all the same. Certainly, Natsuki still had to know how she felt about her; she hadn't made a point of showing it, admittedly, but she had also never claimed that her feelings had changed.

But she _had_ promised, and she was doing her utmost; the two of them were exchanging both texts and e-mails on at least a semi-regular basis, though Natsuki was doing much better at keeping the lines of communication open than Shizuru herself was, since she hadn't even been able to make herself pick up the phone on the few occasions where a series of familiar numbers had lit up the display. Not because she didn't enjoy hearing from her, and not because she was trying to go back on her word, but rather because it was so insufferably hard to let the lines of text flow from her fingertips. To her own eyes, every sentence reeked of how much she missed her; how much it hurt to no longer see her smile or hear her voice.

That wasn't what she wanted Natsuki to see; the gods knew that the younger woman already worried about her plenty, and Shizuru was dead set against making it any worse. Especially considering that as long as she managed to keep herself busy one way or the other, she was honestly doing just fine; a few lost pounds of weight and – as of today – a smattering of bruises notwithstanding.

It was tiring, though, to try to keep the darker of her memories locked away and deal with them a little at a time. The fact that she was running on nothing close to her full power didn't make it any easier, either.

Crimson eyes stared blankly at the opposite wall, and her grip tightened on the glass.

"_Fujino Shizuru-san." A twistedly pleased voice belonging to a boy with eerie eyes and a cruel smile who had watched as her element appeared in her hands for the first time when the orphans attacked. "The strongest, most evil HiME."_

"No." She shook her head in an attempt to dislodge the images.

_Gentle, reddening sunlight, the sound of her own voice and a surprised jolt at the sight of a girl sleeping peacefully. The scent of warm skin, soft beneath her fingers._

"No!" More insistent this time, and her free hand clenched around the edge of the counter.

"_Shizuru!" Her name on those lips; a hoarse, desperate cry that she heard but paid no mind to._

_It didn't matter any more. Nothing mattered. Nothing except protecting her._

"_SHIZURU!"_

_Crack!_

She watched in almost slow-motion as the tension in her grip made the glass in her hand shatter explosively; shards flying every which way and skittering merrily across the mosaic flooring beneath her bare feet, leaving her with only the base grasped between her rubbery fingers. Then that too dropped and bounced as her shaking thighs lost the ability to support her, and she slid to a slow, painful seat on the cold floor with her arms wrapped around her legs.

_Breathe_, she told herself; one hand curling tightly in the hair at the back of her neck as she pressed her forehead against her knees and squeezed her eyes shut. _Just breathe_.

But her body wasn't listening. Her breaths continued to come in short, hitching gasps even as her scalp started stinging under the pressure of her own nails, and she could feel the tremors running through her entire frame. Her control was fading fast; her breathing deepening hoarsely and her chest aching as she fought to regain even the slightest sense of balance. A losing battle, she soon realized when she felt the bile rising at the back of her throat, and turned her focus from monitoring her breathing to keeping the sparse contents of her stomach where they were.

_Control yourself!_

Loss, however, was apparently the name of the game. The tremors became shivers and then violent shudders, and the gasps that made up her breathing became harsher by the second until they finally turned into deep, wrenching sobs that would not be denied no matter how hard she fought them.

If only it had at least been cathartic. Instead, it was simply another affirmation that no matter what she did, no matter how far she ran or how deep she shoved it down, she just could not escape this helpless, hopeless, damnable emotion; this utterly miserable _love_ that had already destroyed her once.

It wasn't until she finally noticed the warm, sticky feeling of wet denim against her skin that she realized her hand was bleeding.

xXxXx

"_Itedakimasu_." Shizuru settled herself at the end of the small dining table, and took extra care while she tugged the chair closer and then rested her arms on the surface of the table while she surveyed the plate in front of her. A favorite of hers, made from her mother's recipe, but all the same utterly failing to entice her.

She sighed and picked up her chopsticks nevertheless; knowing full well that her body needed the fuel, especially if she was to try resuming her training regimen and rebuilding the strength that had vanished. Besides, the weight she'd lost had her parents concerned enough that they were threatening to _make_ her move home if her appearance didn't start changing in the opposite direction. In and of itself, that was hardly a horrible thing, but she knew that with home came an unlimited amount of worried eyes, and a definite, steep decline in the amount of privacy that she found herself needing.

So she ate, and tried not to notice how the food had no flavor; how it seemed to turn into ashes the second it entered her mouth, or how it seemed to want to choke her when her throat fought to swallow it. Not unlike how she'd forced herself to not notice the colors fading to grays.

At least there was the small blessing that handling the chopsticks wasn't an issue, she mused as she intentionally turned her thoughts from the food to the neat bandages that dotted – and in places covered – the palm and fingers of her left hand. She was glad that she'd been holding the glass in her non-dominant hand, since that had certainly simplified the process of both cleaning and dressing the numerous cuts she'd acquired. None had been serious enough to require medical attention as far as she could tell, but they were stinging like crazy, and it would have made eating significantly more challenging if she'd had to maneuver the utensils with that appendage.

That was the most violent way she could remember reacting, and it had honestly frightened her quite a bit. Perhaps it was to be expected, though, because she had spent a long time consciously suppressing a lot of things; it wasn't surprising that they'd eventually fight their way to the surface, no matter how much she willed it otherwise.

This time, she considered wryly as she gently flexed her aching fingers, she might even learn something from the experience.

A low, buzzing sound caught her attention, and she abandoned the bland food as she rose on weary legs and made her way from the dining table to the couch, where her mobile phone was informing her that she had another new text.

From Natsuki again, she recognized as she sat down and opened the message. Another frustrated missive in a long line of them that had reached her over the past few weeks; at first asking if she was okay, then expressing concern, and finally, now, demanding to know what was wrong since she wasn't responding to any written communication or picking up her phone.

But what could she say, she wondered as a knock at her front door made her rise once more; the phone held gingerly in her injured left hand as she worked the lock. Was there anything she could tell her friend that wouldn't serve to simply further her fears?

No. She closed her good hand around the handle and pulled, then carefully pocketed the phone as she wrestled a polite smile onto her face. There probably wasn't.

It was at once both surprising and utterly expected to see the figure waiting beyond; to rest her tired eyes on that achingly familiar scowl, and watch it transform into a shocked, brilliantly green stare once the door was open enough for Shizuru herself to come fully into view.

"What the hell happened to your hand?!" her unexpected visitor demanded. "What the hell happened to _you?!_"

She sighed, and leaned wearily against the doorframe. "Hello, Natsuki."

xXxXx

- END

**End notes:  
**Alright, so sue me; I couldn't resist adding that little ray of light at the end. Also, if anyone knows where Nagi's line of (what I translated from) '_saikyu, saiaku no HiME'_ comes from, please do tell me. I haven't been able to find it myself.


End file.
